Fire Under Snow

by Dorothy Vernon

  “You’re too stiff,” he said. It was not a reprimand but a jeer, because he knew her reserve was caused by his nearness. His voice whispered insidiously in her ear, “Let your body go. Just sway to the rhythm. Allow your legs to move freely from the hips.”

  “I didn’t realize you were such an expert.”

  “I’m not. I just hold the opinion that everything worth doing is worth doing well. Did you know that dancing was one of mankind’s earliest forms of expression? Dancing is older than anything except eating and drinking and ... Can you guess what else has survived the years and will continue to do so as long as people exist?” He smiled when she didn’t answer. “Of course, you know how primitive man gave his emotions an outlet when he banked up the fire and crawled under the animal skins onto his bed of twigs and dry grass next to his mate.”

  She purposely ignored the allusion to love- making and said, “I didn’t realize dancing dated back that far.”

  “It came before speech. Language, as we know it, hadn’t been thought of when our Stone Age counterpart was drawing, on the walls of his cave, not only the animals he hunted with his crude flint axes – bison, wild boar, deer and elk – but also scenes depicting the rhythmic outlet of his thoughts and emotions.”

  She was mesmerized by the thought that people had been dancing before the Christian era and had danced down through the centuries ever since. It was not just a vogue; it was a form of expression intrinsic to life.

  As her mind relaxed, the slow fascination of the rhythm took over her feet and she could even speak without stumbling. She was quite disappointed when he said it was time to take her home. She realized with surprise that they were the only couple on the floor.

  “Thank you for the dancing lesson,” she said sincerely. “I enjoyed it.”

  He looked down at her for a moment, his expression still. Then he smiled, and it was a smile of such rare charm, one she had never seen on his face until that moment, that she almost started back in amazement. “So did I,” he said. “We must do it again some time.”

  This kinder mood lasted on the journey home. He parked the car just short of the pool of light cast by the street lamp outside her apartment building.

  In the light available she could just see that his eyes were still benign as he said, “I wish I understood you, Lorraine. I might if I knew. I know you have a past – everyone has. I’m sure yours is as white as virgin snow compared with mine. The muddy patches in my past don’t bother me. Yet this thing in your past obviously bothers you.”

  It wasn’t difficult to know what had brought this on. A piece of her past had walked in on her tonight in the form of Sir William.

  “Yes, it bothers me,” she said guardedly.

  “So far you’ve only given me the headlines – the bulletin announcements, as it were – but never the details.”

  At the beginning she hadn’t told him because it had seemed pointless to put herself through the ordeal, believing as she had that nothing could come of their friendship. But perhaps now the situation had altered. He hadn’t grown tired of her and showed no signs of doing so. As things stood at present, she owed it to him to tell him.

  If only she could know for sure his motive in wanting to know. If it was to even up the score with Sir William, because in his supreme conceit he couldn’t bear to think that any man knew things about her that he didn’t, then she owed him nothing.

  What did it matter whether she owed it to him or not? Eventually she would have to tell him. Preferably before he found out, which he undoubtedly would when Jamie returned from the States.

  It was going to be tricky. She must try not to discredit Jamie too much. She didn’t want to cause bad feeling between the two men. And she must make him promise not to take up the battle for her. Not that she anticipated one. Jamie would be glad of his freedom now that he was a big star. She wondered why he hadn’t sought her out to ask her to be released from their marriage before now. This wasn’t a new thought. It was one she had puzzled over before. Perhaps Jamie had been too busy chasing success to take time off to put his private life in order.

  Noel’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Do you remember the first time I took you out? I called you on the telephone, at an unpardonably late hour, and we drove out to that transport café for a meal. You let your hair down that night.”

  She knew he was speaking figuratively and that he was referring to the way she’d talked about her early life, about her parents and the very special love they’d had for each other. She had shared thoughts and feelings with him that had been kept guarded from everyone else. Just thinking about the way she had, to use his expression, “let her hair down” brought a lump to her throat. It still touched and surprised her that she’d known such instant rapport with a stranger.

  To buy herself a few moments’ time in which to compose herself, she pretended to take him literally. “I’d just washed it,” she said, brushing her fingers against her hair. “It was too soft to put in a chignon in the short time you gave me to get ready.”

  His tone held gentle rebuke. “You know that’s not what I meant. You told me a lot about your past that night. You even surprised yourself. Characteristically, you’re a very self-contained, private sort of person. Yes?”

  “Yes,” she agreed gruffly.

  “You told me you had been in a fire. In consequence you lost your job because it was thought that the top-drawer customers you sold top- drawer-priced beauty aids to might object to your disfigured hands. Your hands are no longer disfigured. The surface scars have gone. I asked you about the inner scars. I asked if they had faded and you said you didn’t want to talk about it. Do you feel like talking about it now?”

  He was making it easy for her. Once she got over the difficult hurdle of the opening words, she would be all right.

  He said, both perceptively and persuasively, “It’s important to us that you tell me. Something that happened then, during the fire or in the circumstances surrounding it, is keeping us apart. Am I right?”

  “Yes.” She nodded her head so fiercely that the key hairpins in her hair lost anchorage and proved inadequate to the task of supporting the weight of her chignon.

  The silky, pale-gold rope slowly unwound and collapsed totally as he removed the remaining hairpins. “Oh, God, how much I’ve wanted to do that – how much I want you. I’m obsessed by you. It’s beyond endurance. I’ve got a monomaniacal hunger for you that’s burning me up. Your hair is so beautiful, as fine as spun gold,” he said, gathering it in his hands and caressing the strands. “I love it however you arrange it, but I like it this' way best. Ever since that first date when you ‘let your hair down’ in more ways than one, I’ve dreamed of waking up and finding it straying across my pillow.”

  The restless caress of his fingers combing through her hair stirred up a frenzy in her breast. She knew she should hold herself aloof, ignore the dangerous sensations he aroused in her. How could she control the thoughts in her head when his fingers were tormenting and delighting every part of her scalp?

  “Promise me you’ll never cut your hair. Always keep it long. If only I could climb up it, like the prince in the fairy tale, and storm your impenetrable tower. I’ve tried to be patient, but if you don’t give in soon I think I’ll go crazy.”

  “Rapunzel,” the Grimms’ poignant tale of bitter realism, had always been a particular favorite with Lorraine. But no smile of tender memory touched her lips, because suddenly she had come to her senses. If she’d had a pair of scissors in her hands at that moment she would have emulated the witch’s actions in the fairy tale. With a snip, snap she would have cut off her tresses just to spite him. The prince had loved Rapunzel to distraction; he had asked her to be his wife. Noel had not owned to love, only lust. And he had not asked her to be his wife, only his bedmate.

  She thanked God for her long hair, knowing that it had saved her from making a fool of herself. Seeing it gently uncoil had triggered off something in him. Until that moment he had
moved so slowly, so cunningly and cautiously, inviting her confidence with his treacherous sweetness and kindness. He had fooled her so completely that she had been tripping over herself to tell him everything. Her lack of eloquence, her inability to conjure up the right words, had been a blessing for once, a timely hindrance.

  His patience with her on the dance floor, his persuasive sympathy as he encouraged her to talk about the fire just now – they were deliberate ploys to soften her up. Thank goodness his sweet-talking trickery had come to light. He didn’t care about what had happened to her; all he cared about was what he wanted to happen now. He didn’t want to even the score with Sir William; he wanted to beat him. He wanted to get to her first.

  She dragged her hair from his fingers, ignoring the searing pain in her head as he proved reluctant to relinquish his hold. “The next act has just been rewritten. The big seduction scene is out. My hair will never stray across your pillow,” she said with a vehemence that matched the raging fury of her thoughts. “I’ll cut it off first.”

  “What’s brought this on?” For a split second her attack stunned him, delaying the angry retaliation. The bite was back in his voice as he said, “You reverse moods quicker than any female I know.”

  “And you’re an authority on females, aren’t you? The expert. For all your skill and dexterity in handling them, you haven’t had much luck this evening. First Toni Carr, then me.”

  “What do you mean by that?” he demanded. “No doubt your friend, the manager of the Cabana, passed on your message inviting Miss Carr to join us for a meal. Your sultry songbird didn’t join us, so obviously she turned down your invitation. Isn’t that so?” She smirked sweetly.

  “If you are suggesting that Miss Carr viewed the prospect of my company with distaste, then no, it is not so. She had another booking. It’s not unusual for a relatively unknown singer, struggling to make a name for herself, to have a taxi waiting to whisk her to a second engagement. That was the predicament Toni Carr was in this evening. She asked for a rain check. I’m taking her out for a meal tomorrow.”

  “Good. I hope the evening lives up to your expectations.”

  “Who said anything about evening? She works then, remember? I’m taking her to lunch.”

  “And then back to your apartment for a private audition?”

  “Probably. Jealous?” he taunted. “You don’t have to be. I’m taking you out tomorrow evening. So whether it lives up to my expectations rests entirely with you.”

  Oh, no! She couldn’t stand it. How much more could she take? She knew that he would work on her until she gave in. Each time they met she was finding it more difficult to resist.

  If only she could get away somewhere, away from his devious charm and his disturbing influence. She must have time to herself. She owed it to herself not to be browbeaten into anything. If she could get away from him for a while she would have a chance to think, and she might also be able to build up some reserves of strength.

  “I’ll call for you at the usual time,” he said.

  “No.” Even though she closed her eyes in despair, her no rang out emphatically.

  “No?” he challenged.

  “Did I forget to tell you? I won’t be here. I’m –” Her brain was spinning wildly. “I’m going to Aunt Leonora’s tomorrow. I’m finally paying her that overdue visit.”

  “Is this the truth, Lorraine?”

  Her brain might have spun an inventive lie in the first place, but she could make it the truth by going in to work tomorrow and making arrangements to take a week’s holiday. She could leave for Kittiwake Bay on the evening train.

  “Yes, it’s the truth.”

  Perhaps she had taken too long in replying. Frowning deeply, he said, “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you? It isn’t that you’ve arranged to go out with Sir William tomorrow?”

  “No, I haven’t arranged to see him tomorrow. I’m catching the seven o’clock train for Kittiwake Bay.”

  Her cheeks were burning. Deception was a game some people played with ease, but not Lorraine. She prayed that he wouldn’t ask any awkward questions, such as was she going by prior arrangement or was it a newly reached decision. He was shrewd enough to have realized that although she wasn’t lying, neither was she telling the whole truth.

  “How long will you be away?”

  “A week.”

  “I’ll call you,” he said.

  His tone was disturbingly cool, but at least she wasn’t going to be made to talk herself into further trouble, which was what she seemed to do every time she opened her mouth.

  She got out of the car, lifted her hand in a goodbye gesture and walked quickly away. He waited until she was safely inside, as he always did, before driving off.

  She met with no opposition at work. She was granted a week’s holiday leave to commence the following day. She phoned her aunt to let her know of her sudden decision to visit and was warmed by the happiness in Leonora’s voice as she said it was the best news she’d had all day and how much she was looking forward to having Lorraine with her.

  As she packed the simple things she’d need, taking only the barest necessities, Lorraine knew the feeling was reciprocal. A surge of homesickness had entered her blood, and she couldn’t wait to be there.

  She was moving at great haste, with not a lot of time to spare, when her doorbell rang. She would have to get rid of whoever was there quickly or she would miss her train.

  She couldn’t believe it when she opened the door and found Noel standing outside her apartment.

  “I can’t stop now,” she said in desperation. “I’m in danger of missing my train as it is.”

  “Miss it,” he commanded. “That’s why I’m here. I’m driving you.”

  Driving me crazy, she thought. “Why?” she gasped.

  “I could do with a breath of sea air. You’re not the only one who needs a break. I can’t remember the last time I had a holiday, although I’ve traveled extensively, taking in all the exotic holiday spots. It’s always business first, with a pair of swimming trunks tucked into my suitcase in the vain hope that I might have time to use them.”

  “Unless there is an unscheduled heat wave, which is very unlikely, you won’t get to use your swimming trunks at Kittiwake Bay. It’s the coldest, breeziest bit of English coast there is, although bracing is what my aunt calls it. But why do you want to go there? Or – wait a minute – perhaps I’m presuming too much. Perhaps you intend to drive me there, drop me off, and then go somewhere else?” she said hopefully.

  “No. Kittiwake Bay sounds nice to me.”

  “But – why Kittiwake Bay?”

  “Because you’ll be there.” He laughed into her expressive, scared eyes. “Oh, come on. What can I get up to with your aunt there? I don’t intend to impose on her, if that’s what’s worrying you. I’ll book into a hotel.”

  “Aunt Leonora is much too hospitable to let you,” she said ungraciously in defeat.

  She hadn’t masterminded her escape campaign very intelligently. Not only had she made a complete hash of it, but the situation was now ten times worse.

  Why was he pursuing her in this relentless fashion, stalking her in a manner that was cruel, almost sadistic? Did he think his tenacity would eventually wear her down? Perhaps it would, she thought, going cold with apprehension. He didn’t care what lengths he went to. She wasn’t taken in. She knew it would take more than Aunt Leonora’s presence to put him off. She was weary of fighting. It even crossed her mind that it might be best to give in – let him have his conquest – and then perhaps he’d leave her alone.

  Kittiwake Bay had always been a haven to run to when in trouble or pain. One thing was certain: this time Kittiwake Bay would not be the refuge she had come to expect.

  Chapter Six

  They drove for a while without saying anything, listening in silence to the soothing tones of taped music. When the music finished, however, Noel did not insert another cassette but turned the machine off.

&n
bsp; “You’re not very talkative,” he said.

  “Perhaps I haven’t anything to talk about. Anyway, you hate small talk.”

  “True. Tell me about Kittiwake Bay.”

  “What is there to tell? It’s a thriving little village, but it never made it as a seaside resort. A lot of plans were put into operation when the railway came through in the mid-eighteen- hundreds – plots of land were laid out, water mains put in, a reservoir built. The railway was supposed to bring in the day-trippers and holiday-makers from the mill and steel towns. It never caught on as a popular resort, probably because even in summer the conditions are wintry on the exposed moorland heights. They do say it’s always attracted more legends than visitors. You’ve got to be hardy to love it.”

  “As you do.”

  “Yes.”

  She closed her eyes and saw precipitous chalk cliffs massed with ledges and crannies where kittiwakes and other sea birds built their nests; white boulders, swept from places as far away as Scandinavia by past Ice Ages, strewn along the shore like giant meringues, and her own special weakness: fascinating caves just begging to be explored – only at low tide and not by the squeamish.

  “Well?” he prompted.

  “I cringe to think what you will make of it. It has one hotel, which provides the only bit of nightlife. The town itself ‘dies’ every evening at six o’clock when everything closes up, right down to the last small snack bar and café. You will find it very dull,” she said, with a certain amount of relish.

  “On the contrary. It’s as though you were describing a piece of heaven. No rush and bustle. Only the clock is wound up – not the people. It placidly ticks out the time of day, and no one is ruled by it. M’m ... bliss.”

  She sent him a defensive look. That bland tone was suspect. Was he teasing her? She said tentatively, “There’s not much to do except walk.”

  “Come now, Lorraine. With just a scrap of imagination, I’m sure we can think of something else to do.”